


I'll hold your hand (if you hold mine)

by shinigamiroulette



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, I wrote this back when s1 had first started airing, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Underage Drinking, and bughead first got together, veronica can drink archie under the table any day of the week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 12:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17446811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigamiroulette/pseuds/shinigamiroulette
Summary: Archie's in love with someone he can't have.He's not the only one.





	I'll hold your hand (if you hold mine)

When Jughead puts his arm around Betty, Archie feels like he’s falling.

He doesn’t even catch the flippant comment Veronica makes about it, too focused on the slow circles Jughead’s fingers are tracing on the exposed skin of Betty’s neck. His best friend’s fingernails are dirty, hemmed short and ragged by wandering teeth, and Archie feels like if they caught just so they’d cleave the velvet skin apart like butter. Jughead’s hair is greasy beneath his beanie, his worn flannel bearing stains Archie doesn’t want to consider the origins of as it drapes over Betty’s bubblegum-pink sweater vest. Archie knows that under the table shredded grey jeans press against smooth blue denim from hip to knee. They don’t fit, like the rounded edge of a puzzle piece trying to force its way into a square dock, but they’re fitting.

And now that it’s been pointed out to him, it’s so _obvious_. The Blue and Gold, those sideways glances, how Jughead seemed to prefer her company to his even as the fractures in their friendship slowly began to mend.

How on earth had he not noticed before?

Then again, he supposes, that’s what he does, isn’t it. Not notice. Archie Andrews has a talent for missing things that are right in front of his _fucking_ face, as Jughead often liked ( _used to like_ ) to snark when the world would turn without him again.

A wave of white noise roars in his ears, crests over his head, and he sinks down into himself.

Somewhere far away, he smiles.

“I’m happy for you guys.”

* * *

 

Fred Andrews doesn’t hide the whiskey very well. Archie’s halfway through the bottle, his throat burning sour and his stomach thrumming with warmth, when Veronica texts him. It’s demanding and to the point, as she is.

_I’ll be there in five, open the door._

He unlocks the phone with fingers just starting to feel clumsy ( _about damn time, one of the drawbacks of football bulk_ ) and hesitates, thumbs frozen above the keyboard as he tries to think of some sort of response. He has no idea what the girl is on about – the text thread lighting up his darkened room is nearly empty. That’s because they’re acquaintances, friends of friends. They’re conversational and occasionally even playfully flirty, but the fact remains that she’s Betty’s friend, she’s Kevin’s friend, she’s not Archie’s friend. Not really. Not enough to be showing up at his house alone and unannounced at nine at night, at least.

He swallows thick brine and says the only thing that can be said to a determined Veronica Lodge.

_Ok._

* * *

 

It’s barely two minutes later that she rings the doorbell, and Archie thinks wryly to himself that well, at least she’s punctual. He swings his legs off the bed and attempts to stand, but the sudden head rush sends him back onto his ass in an instant. He’d nearly forgotten about the past half-hour he’d spent drowning his sorrows in the bottle momentarily forgotten on the nightstand. Slower movements are more successful, and he turns to give himself a quick once-over in the mirror propped up in the corner of the room.

The Archie in the mirror blinks blearily back at him, eyes dark and dull and tellingly rimmed in red.

Okay, so there was no way Veronica wouldn’t notice. Whatever – if he turned her away now, she would not only be peeved but suspicious, and he needed neither of those things.

He was a teenage boy, he could be drinking filched liquor alone in his bedroom the night after he discovered his best friend was dating his other best friend for reasons other than being in love with one of them, right?

Sharp, impatient rapping rings in his ears as Archie makes his way out of his bedroom and down the stairs as steadily as possible. That’s Veronica Lodge, alright, and he’s not feeling charitable enough to suppress an eye roll as he swings open the door to find a small brunette standing on his doormat as though awaiting entry to the highest-class club in Manhattan. A shift of her weight clicks pristine red patent heels, an expensive-looking bag swinging from the slim arms folded over her chest.

Surprisingly though, she doesn’t look angry. Doesn’t even look annoyed, as he’d assumed from the shortness of her message and impatience at the door. She just looks…sad.

“Archie.” She sighs, and her gaze stays locked somewhere around his belly button, “Can I come in?”

He snorts before he can stop himself. Alcohol really brings out the snark that’s rubbed off on Archie from years of hanging out with Ju- _him_.

“I didn’t think you were asking.”

The words are clumsy, his tongue can’t curl around the consonants just right, and it draws her attention. A sharply drawn eyebrow raises at the slightly dazed look he was sure he hadn’t been able to wipe off his face completely.

“You’re drunk?” She says, and it’s almost a question, but not really.

He doesn’t answer, just steps aside to let her in, eyes dropping in the same sort of shame he’d feel if those words had come from his mother.

But Veronica isn’t his mother, and the hard knot his best friends’ mismatched fingers had tied in his chest feels looser somehow, so it’s only a moment before he looks back up at her. She’s hesitating, lips parted a little too far for a little too long.

Then she draws in a breath and says, too fast, “Because of Betty and Jughead?”.

Archie eyes her curiously. She barely even says the words, slurring them worse than he ever could, as though her lips refused to recognize their curves and dips and make them real. He understood her well enough, though, and he understood that for whatever reason, Veronica Lodge was about as much of a fan of the new lovebirds as he was.

Interesting, considering how positively gleeful she’d been acting about it in their presence. He wondered if that was something she’d learned in New York, and if she’d be able to teach him so that no one could ever look at him again the way she was right now. Like she could see right through his skin.

He takes too long to answer and he knows it, but something in her stance makes him feel like if he’s an insect pinned to a board, she’s right up there with him. So he doesn’t bother saying what they both know, and he doesn’t bother trying to expose her in kind. Veronica Lodge never does anything without a reason, and if she shows up at his house at an impolite hour looking as miserable about this new development as he is, he knows he’ll find out why eventually.

Or not, maybe, but the thought of not being completely alone with the guilt dripping off his ribs was too nice to pass up.

 “Want a drink?” He shrugs with a wry smile, “There’s about half the bottle left.”

Archie doesn’t think he’s ever seen Veronica Lodge caught off guard. Then a smirk pulls up the corner of her lips, though there’s no humor in her eyes.

“I don’t want one, but I need one.”

* * *

 

That finds them upstairs on Archie’s bed, Veronica taking in blue walls contemplatively as her garnet nails _tink_ against the neck of the bottle. She shows no indication she’s even noticed it going down her throat, making Archie wonder what kinds of things she’s seen up in Manhattan, and makes a grand sweeping gesture around Archie’s room.

“Just what I expected.”

Archie doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stays silent.

It’s a few passes of the bottle back and forth later (Archie now putting a Herculean effort into keeping a straight face when he feels like he’s about to choke on the stuff) when Veronica finally begins talking.

“I’m sorry.” She sighs, cheeks now lightly dusted pink, “About Betty. I mean, I don’t know what went on between you two, and I know you’re the one who rejected her and honestly, you don’t even have a right to be upset about this,” she gives him a pointed look, before dropping her gaze back down to the bedspread and the loose thread she’s rolling between her fingers. “But…I understand you’re upset. And I’m sorry it hurts.”

Archie blinks. He’s never heard Veronica Lodge speak this candidly before, and frankly, he thought it was going to take a lot more booze (she _is_ pretty small though, he supposes). But he’s feeling quite drunk now, and the loosening of her tongue is encouraging the unraveling of his own, unraveling just like the ends of that knot as they slither up his throat and curl behind his teeth.

“It’s…not that.” He mumbles, feeling as though his lungs are shriveling in his chest, “She’s my best friend, and I love her as a best friend. I…I told her the truth. I don’t like her like that.”

The little pucker in Veronica’s forehead, which alcohol has done nothing to smooth, deepens. “Then…why? And don’t tell me it’s not them, I saw the look on your face when they told us today. That was a broken heart if I’ve ever seen one.”

Archie suddenly thinks the lump in his throat might be vomit. “It’s not…it’s not a broken heart.”

He wasn’t some swooning princess pining over his knight in a greasy beanie. Jughead hadn’t _broken his heart_. Jughead had just…made him feel like puking and sobbing and crawling out of his own skin all at once, that was all. If the hot, throbbing, confusing shame he felt when he saw Jughead’s eyelashes brush his cheeks was the sting of a scab tearing off, this was Archie shucking an entire body’s worth of third-degree burns. He felt like he was breathing in water, like something had crushed a hole straight through his chest, like he had lost not one, but _both_ of the things that meant the most to him in one fell swoop. That was all.

He grabbed for the bottle and gagged on a huge gulp. He was not _heartbroken_.

“Archie!” Veronica snatched the whiskey away from him as he coughed and spluttered. He fixed his gaze firmly on the poster a foot to the left of her head, ignoring the way her eyes bored into him in search of answers that he didn’t even know how to give.

“Archie.” She says again, softer, imploring him to look at her. And he does, resolve weakened by hurt and shame and whiskey and despite himself, suddenly feels his eyes began to sting.

“Al-allergies.” He splutters, even as he begins to sob and she rises up onto her knees to wrap her small arms as far around him as she can.

Losing all semblance of ill-fitting dignity, Archie buries his head in the crook of her neck as he heaves so hard on his misery that he feels like he really might puke. He might even expel that knot of darkness lodged in his lungs like a cat coughing up a hairball, and then everything will be okay and he won’t want Jughead to look at him with those _stupid_ , _disgusting_ puppy dog eyes.

“Honey…” Veronica murmurs, rubbing his back gently with one perfectly manicured hand and kissing his greasy hair with the other. As soothing as she’s trying to be, he can hear it in her voice – she’s well and truly freaked out. Still, she’s there, trying to comfort him even as he drips saliva and snot onto the shoulder of her expensive designer blouse, and Archie feels incredibly grateful.

He doesn’t know how long it takes for him to swallow the lump in his throat and still his trembling. He doesn’t know how long it takes for him to regain enough control to break out of Veronica’s embrace and fix his eyes firmly on the sheets between them, embarrassed.

A small hand touches his chin, brings his head up to face hers, and then she’s wiping him off with a tissue in a gesture so motherly he wants to cry all over again. But that’s another loss, for another time.

Then, looking him right in the eyes with that Lodge determination he’s come to recognize as her defining trait, she says “Tell me.”

And his resolve is gone with all his inhibitions, and he does.

“I don’t…want her.” He repeats, dropping his head into his hands. “I…” and his eyes are burning hot again, and his voice breaks, “I want…him.”

It’s a moment of rough eye wiping before he can look at her again. There is a split second of her looking like the world was pulled out from under her feet, before another one slots into place and she sighs. “Oh, honey.”

It’s the same thing she said before, voice trembling and unsure, but now she just sounds so _understanding_ , so _not disgusted_ , that he feels another tear fall.

“I know,” he sighs, anticipating the questions that she’ll ask, the ones he’s gone round and round with for years now, “I know.”

There’s a long silence.

“I…” Veronica’s voice breaks, and Archie looks up at her in interest as he realizes this is the first time he’s ever heard the Lodge girl sound truly unsure. “I…” she looks up at him desperately, “…Betty.”

And Archie _gets it_. Yet another thing he’s missed, something else he couldn’t see through the thicket of his own self-absorption, another person feeling as though their heartstrings are tying themselves in a noose around their throat.

And then Archie’s the one holding her, murmuring drunken nonsense gently in her ear as she cries. She’s got a small fist knotted in the front of his t-shirt and he doesn’t even know her middle name but he feels closer to her than he has to anyone since he realized Jughead was prettier than any of the middle school girls. And then she’s done, and he’s done, and there’s nothing left to do but stare at each other, content, at least, in this.

He’s not sure how long it takes for them to drain the bottle. She’s pretty but not beautiful, not his type and definitely lacking some anatomy, but she’s got that sardonic smile and black hair that he can pretend is shorter with his eyes almost all the way closed. He’s too much of a _man_ , she says with a mockingly flirty grin, but he knows she sees the years of secret smiles through bedroom windows in his eyes, and it’s enough.

Archie doesn’t know who kisses first, only that they’re kissing and kissing and it’s not so good but both of them know how to play pretend. He thinks they might’ve cried a little more, when he’s in her and she’s not quite angular enough to make him forget, when she says a name that isn’t his but doesn’t really seem to believe it.

It all fades out, like the end of a song.

She’s gone when he wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Laugh Till I Cry" by The Front Bottoms.
> 
> varchie weren't a thing when I wrote this and then they were so I'll be taking those royalties, RAS


End file.
